It's the Little Things in Life
by Darkwood Princess
Summary: Five times the Witnesses were surprised by the people around them and one time they were totally expecting it. Featuring Jazz music, sci-fi, awkwardness, and much more.


AN: So I haven't touched any of my fics in literally 3 months. Organic Chemistry and various other collegiate endeavors have been smushing the soul out of me. But whatever idiot runs around in my brain and throws out random ideas has shouted at me until I wrote this…. so, I hope it's enjoyable.

_Five Times People Around Them Surprised the Witnesses and One Time They Totally Expected It. _

_**That One Time Captain Irving Was a Lounge Singer… **_

Abbie Mills knew quite a bit about the working life of Captain Frank Irving. He was a workaholic, never leaving the precinct before others, a pragmatist, as she had learned to her detriment and had only changed recently, and he was loyal, willing to cover up for officers if he believed they had a true purpose to their actions. His personal life though? Nope, not her division.

So when it came to undercover work after Irving had finally come face to gaping neckhole with the headless horseman, neither Abbie nor Ichabod really knew what to do with the Irving, other than let him do his thing.

Usually 'his thing' involved shooting whatever nasty of the week decided it would be a wonderful proposition to attach Sleepy Hollow. There had never been a town more ridiculously named, considering that Moloch was turning the place into Demon Central. But tonight, tonight the 'monster' was decidedly more deadly than eldritch abominations with several mix and match horror body parts.

Tonight they were dealing with a siren.

Where Moloch recruited the usually water loving creature was beyond her knowledge, all Abbie and Ichabod knew was that the local invitation only nightclub was losing handsome young patrons and losing them fast. The dried and aged husks of at least five young men had turned up all over town, unnaturally decrepit for the identities discovered after testing. All had been seen crossing the threshold of the Ivy League before reappearing as antique individuals.

So obviously they were going to have to invade the nightclub.

How was less obvious, since it was a rather exclusive place and short of storming it with the cops, they needed an inconspicuous way in. A few forged documents from Jenny would do the trick for Abbie and Ichabod, but they ran a higher risk the more people they attempted to smuggle in.

That's when Irving spoke up.

"I could always get in as a singer."

The silence in the room was more than complete, it was stifling.

"A singer? You?" Jenny's laughter rang out, speaking what all had been thinking. Irving rolled his eyes at her and continued.

"I had to pay for school somehow. Besides, do you really think British over here can really deal with a nightclub? He still has fits when women walk by in booty shorts, ain't no way he can deal with the type of clothing people wear to a club." Ichabod flushed red, about to respond with a long lecture on debasement of women and why those shorts were so terribly offensive when Abbie elbowed him in the side.

"It's true Crane, so relax. We need to focus on catching the siren, not on your problems with modern fashion. If the Captain can get in that way, so be it."

A few hours later, a lecture on why her dress was missing a back, and a lot of coaxing about wearing modern men's wear, Ichabod and Abbie had managed to pass as patrons and were settling into a table in the corner, watching out for any odd acting customers. Jenny was passing as a waitress, and Irving had yet to come on stage.

"You know, for an establishment this one is not completely without merits." Ichabod was coolly scanning, noting the candle lit atmosphere and real instrument band. Abbie patted him on the shoulder, "Not everything in this century is so terrible, Crane. There are some things that are enjoyable."

Ichabod was saved a response by the appearance of Irving on stage. Dressed in a pinstripe suit, with a low Fedora, he was a far cry from the Captain who ran the local precinct with an iron fist. The band started crooning out a familiar trumpet strain and Abbie and Ichabod watched in amazement as Irving proceeded with his interpretation of Nat King Cole…

"L is for the way you look at me  
O is for the only one I see  
V is very, very, extraordinary  
E is even more than anyone that you adore."

"He's pretty good!" Abbie muttered in appreciation, laughing as Irving switched languages.

"Toi qui ne m'avais rien repondu  
Je sais que tu ne m'avais pas cru

Doch, seit ein paar Tagen  
Brauch' ich nicht mehr nach zu schlagen  
Denn, ich lieb' nur nich allein"

"I did not know that the Captain was fluent in multiple languages. That was most definitely German!" Ichabod's delight was palpable as he forgot their actual mission in the joy of using his long rusty language skills.

"Quiero que me expliques por favor  
Lo que encierra la palabra amor

So che non ho de desiderare ancora  
Perche per me tu sei la sola donna mondiale

Love wa sekai no kotoba  
Love wa futari no takara  
Ai shiaeba ashitamo akarui

Love, love you, love I, love you  
Love, love you, love I, love you  
Love, love you, love I, love you."

Irving finished with a vocal flourish and bowed to the applause of the club. He continued to sing several more songs, sticking to the jazz era, when a gorgeous brunette in a floor length gown joined him on stage, requesting that she join in. The hushed voices in the club suggested that she was the regular singer, a woman with a fantastic voice and more than a suitable match for a duet.

Ichabod snorted as he watched the coy exchange between the new singer and the Captain. " Obviously our target cannot stand the thought of anyone having more attention and a more beautiful voice than she. All we have to do now is wait for her to follow the good Captain out." Abbie just shrugged, "Well, we can enjoy the music right?"

Time passed strangely after that, the odd duet of human and immortal dulling the senses of all in the club. Abbie struggled to glance at her watch, noting that three hours had passed in what felt like a single song.

"This can't go on much longer," Ichabod murmured, watching patiently for one of the two parties to give up. When Irving finally bowed out, throat sore from hours of singing, he left arm and arm with the siren.

"And that's our cue." Abbie and Ichabod were out of their seats in an instant, moving towards the exits, knowing that to catch their quarry before she hurt Irving, they'd have to move quickly.

But Jenny was faster.

They arrived in the alley behind the club to find an unconscious fish woman and a stunned Captain. Jenny was holding a suspiciously dented serving platter and grinning like she hadn't had that much fun in years.

"Too slow guys, maybe you'll get to take out the next one." She patted Ichabod on the arm and grinned at Abbie. "So, do we put her in the cells?"

"Whatever we do, we gotta do it quickly," Abbie replied, grabbing one scaly arm while Jenny grasped the other. Together the two sisters dragged the siren to the police car, leaving Irving and Crane together.

"Are you quite alright Captain?" Ichabod asked, keeping his distance and knowing that the man held no particular love for the displaced revolutionary. Ichabod represented everything that was going wrong in Irving's perfectly structured life right now, and that tended to make a person resented someone. In a lot of ways.

"Yeah," Irving seemed to shudder and wake up from a trance. "I just never thought that I would be siren bait when I was singing in jazz clubs to pay for college." He shook his head. "But I shouldn't be surprised, not anymore, and not with this town."

Ichabod smiled. "There is always something or someone to be surprised about."


End file.
